…so we’re all in Goa just before new year’s eve – watchin the surf, havin a Kings’ – aah, Goa!
With chicken jumping [sic] in our bellies from the night before and with the sun at an hour-to-go, we decide to hit the water.
After what seemed to be 10 minutes (.. or 30 salty sips – by Gamma’s count ..) I deem it time for a sip of Kings and start to head for the shore.
The reason why I say ‘seemed’ is that I don’t have my watch on, so I can’t tell the time.
I suddenly realize that I don’t know where the fuck my watch is – I never take my watch off when I get into the sea (It’s this super-cool watch that I can technically snorkel in water up to 100 meters deep.. ), so why is it not on my wrist??!
I run to the shore in the hopes that I had my life’s one brilliant moment and actually left the watch with the hootch.. alas, I hadn’t.
So I head back to the Gang – who had apparently noticed my misfortune ( and also, i suppose, by now bored stiff of that game of water-volleyball) and are now apparently walking in a line perpendicular to the shoreline in the hopes that they stumble [no, the pun wasn't intended] upon my time-piece.
Bottles are found, bags are found, bikini tops are found. This leads to a slight diversion of attention, as everyone’s altruistic nerve pushes us to return the distraught lady her property.
..we didn’t find her.
Suddenly there’s a yelp from one of the gang – smothered by a well timed wave – not moving an inch.
He says he’s standing on something long, relatively soft and thin (terd..?). Fearless Carlton dives in and lo!, comes out with my beautiful casio-aq160!!
I love Christmas season. True Story.